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Spring is here, pulling her tides farther and deeper than her predecessor. I'm spending more and more time at my beloved little beach. Wandering, searching, staring off in the distance. It hasn't been an easy year so far, but the older I get, the more I recognize that "easy year" is a fantasy. There will simply always be some amount of struggle, loss, and illness to trouble the waters. It isn't wise to hold too fast to peace. Better to let her come and go, come and go, like those glorious spring tides.

Recently, on one of my wanderings, I found a lead fishing weight buried in the mud.

It was easy to be reminded of the worry and grief this object might represent. The weight of things. The solidity of reality. And yet, it wasn't a burden. There was something satisfying about its heft in my hand, and its smooth, spherical shape, as if to say "I know what I am".

Soon thereafter, on another overcast day, I found two extraordinarily beaut…